The Lost Canto (Level Seven)

As I entered the seventh level
I was engulfed by a putrid scent
That caused me to swoon on my
way to the devil.

As I finally awoke,
My eyes filled with the sight of the souls
Of the violent as they choke.

The tyrants, assassins, and the killers
Are watched over by the Minotaur
And the centaurs who stand on the pillars.

In a river of boiling blood they stew,
But those who try to avoid their fate
Are hit with a torture anew.

The centaurs stand guard with bows and arrows.
They aim them at any soul who tries to escape
And shoots it right through to the marrow.

Beyond the river of blood I see the trees
Of which make up the wood of the suicides
With souls hanging, forever at unease.

High up in the trees sit the Harpie beasts,
Making their nests in the branches
And forever on the flesh of the damned they feast.

Beyond the wood I see an area filled with sand.
Here are the naked souls of blasphemers and sodomites
Where they get their just remand.

On their naked bodies rain flakes of fire
As they lay in the scorching sand.
Their eternity is bleak and dire.

Tortured and tormented in the seventh level
Lie the souls of the violent and suicides
With not a hope of ever again being able to revel.